Mary, and I moved from the kitchen to the living room to watch The Lawrence Welk Show, one of their favorites. It baffled me the way almost every Black person I knew worshiped certain TV shows. Their allegiance to Lawrence Welk was probably the most baffling. Perry Mason, the comedies, and Ed Sullivan I enjoyed. I only sat through Lawrence Welk because I had no choice if I wanted to watch anything on TV.
When we gathered in the living room to watch TV we only talked when a commercial came on or if there was an emergency. “I wish we had another TV set so I could watch wrestling,” I complained. “Like Rhoda,” I added.
“Speakin’ of Rhoda, she such a good friend of yours, how come she ain’t got time to come over here and introduce herself?” Muh’Dear asked, adding with an amused look, “Tell her we ain’t gwine to bite her.”
I frowned; Scary Mary cackled.
“The girl must have somethin’ to hide,” Mr. Boatwright said. It was amazing how he often appeared out of nowhere. “Good evenin’.” Entering from the kitchen, he nodded to Scary Mary, who was sitting next to Muh’Dear on the couch with her feet on the coffee table. I was glad the commercial was short.
When Lawrence Welk went off, I left them in the living room discussing Scary Mary’s plan to take in a foster daughter. I could hear them from the kitchen. Scary Mary was going on and on about how angry she was about the fact that there were so many Black kids in need of new homes. She had lived in several foster homes when she was a child she claimed. “As a Christian, I feel duty-bound when it comes to our young’ns. Black folks got a obligation to he’p less fortunate Black folks. Sister Goode, you takin’ in Brother Boatwright is a good example. Just think how Annette might have turned out if he hadn’t been around to keep his eyes on her all these years,” Scary Mary said firmly.
They jumped from discussing Scary Mary’s future foster daughter to Caleb and how he overcharged his customers. Caleb arrived right after Scary Mary left. As soon as he got comfortable, they started gossiping about her missing so much church.
Mr. Boatwright said she just wanted a foster daughter so she could collect money from the state, and he would pray for the white folks to give her an ugly one so she’d be less trouble. Pretty girls got men in trouble, he said. After Caleb left, Muh’Dear and Mr. Boatwright decided that Caleb probably didn’t have a bullet lodged in his head. It was most likely water on the brain. He just said that it was a bullet because a bullet commanded more sympathy and attention than water.
Later, Scary Mary returned with more beer. By then, Pee Wee had joined in, and the subject was white folks. Judge Lawson arrived a half hour later. “Good evening, everybody!” he yelled, rushing in after I opened the door. “Hey there, judgie wudgie. How about a little drink?” Caleb slurred. “How about a big drink!” the judge howled. The next subject they discussed was the mysterious undertaker across the street and his family. I couldn’t stand to listen to them trash my best friend and her family.
I called Rhoda on the kitchen phone and told her about Scary Mary planning to take in a foster daughter when she got off probation.
“That’ll be good for Mott. But knowin’ Scary Mary, she’ll have the girl cleanin’ that whorehouse and baby-sittin’ all the time.” Rhoda chuckled.
“Yeah. But with Scary Mary being a madam having a police record, do you really think they’ll let her have a foster child?” I whispered, glancing every few seconds toward the kitchen door.
“Miss Pimp always gets what she wants. Anyway, the white folks would give Black kids to Godzilla just to get them off their hands,” Rhoda snarled.
I gave this information some serious consideration. “You’re probably right. But with all those nasty men in and out, it’d be a miracle if the girl doesn’t get raped, huh?”
“If the girl is smart, she won’t let that happen,” Rhoda said angrily.
“Like I should have been.” I sighed. “Mr. Boatwright said Scary Mary just wants a foster child so she can collect money from the state,” I added.
Rhoda sighed with disgust. “Does that mean old goat trash everybody?”
“Yep,” I said quickly. Then I told Rhoda some of what Mr. Boatwright had said about her and her family. She